


All My Fragile Strength is Gone

by Laural_Rose



Series: Poetry in Prose [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Episode: s03e01 The Empty Hearse, Gen, Internal Monologue, Stream of Consciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-08
Updated: 2015-05-08
Packaged: 2018-03-29 16:06:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3902422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laural_Rose/pseuds/Laural_Rose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are two John Watson’s in Sherlock’s world. (My pseudo stream-of-consciousness rationalization of the end of The Empty Hearse.) </p><p>This is part of a series, Poetry in Prose, where I take a poem I like and craft a story from its inspiration.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All My Fragile Strength is Gone

**Author's Note:**

> Not Brit-picked (I'm from the other Birmingham), and not beta-ed. If you catch a mistake, PLEASE comment so I can fix it.

> Vases
> 
> Two vases stood on the Shelf of Life  
>  As Love came by to look,  
>  One was of priceless cloisonné,  
>  The other of solid common clay.  
>  Which do you think Love took?
> 
> He took them both from the Shelf of Life,  
>  He took them both with a smile;  
>  He clasped them both with his finger tips,  
>  And touched them both with caressing lips,  
>  And held them both for awhile.
> 
> From tired hands Love let them fall,  
>  And never a word was spoken.  
>  One was of priceless cloisonné,  
>  The other of solid common clay.  
>  Which do you think was broken?
> 
> \-- Nan Terrell Reed  
> 

There were two John Watson’s in Sherlock’s world. There was Not-John, so named both because he was not, in fact, the John of the physical world, did not even technically exist, and because he was born in the absence of John. Not-John sounded like most everyone else Sherlock had ever met, but his words cut far deeper, because they were said in John’s voice, in John’s tones.

The real John said Sherlock was brilliant and fantastic and worthwhile and worthy, even if he didn’t use the words. He displayed his unshakable faith in Sherlock Holmes at every opportunity, no matter the cost. John was the good man Sherlock could never be, and Sherlock was the great man John chose not to be – though Sherlock suspected he could have been, before he took to hiding behind his jumpers and playing at being ordinary.

And Sherlock was going to see John, the real John, not the imitation one that dogged him like Zeus’ harpies across five continents, 211 countries, and, well, he’d honestly lost count of the cities, if he’d even been sure how to measure what counted as a city to begin with. Not-John could never find anything worthwhile in Sherlock, Sherlock could never please, placate, or deter Not-John, in much the same way Sherlock had not been able to dissuade John from believing, protecting, and civilizing Sherlock. He shuddered at the symmetry. But, soon he’d have the real John, and Not-John would cease to exist again, which would suit Sherlock fine.

But, then even John, the real John, didn’t call him fantastic when they were reunited. He hadn’t worked out Sherlock’s clue, hadn’t realized he already had his miracle, it just had a delayed arrival. And he didn’t want to know how. He didn’t want Sherlock to be brilliant anymore; Sherlock didn’t know how to be anything else, though. Even if he did feel the closest to stupid he’d felt since he was a child growing up under Mycroft’s jaundiced eye.

The John of before had always wanted to know how. He’d asked that before anything else, said things like ‘can you take us through it, please’, and took notes for his blog. But, the John of now was angry and calling him inhuman again, and sounding like Not-John, and it wasn’t until that moment that Sherlock realized he’d missed the biggest thing of all;

When he’d dodged death, it had been John who’d fragmented in his place. He’d done this, made John Not-John. And he didn’t know how to fix it. He wasn’t sure if it could be fixed.

So, he fractured things further. Because if Sherlock had caused John to become Not-John, than maybe no Sherlock, or even Not-Sherlock, would help John become himself again. Because Sherlock knew he hurt John all the time, but it was usually unintentional, or a defense mechanism that John understood. What he was planning was not either of those, and was cruel, of course he knew it was cruel, and the kind of thing that the real Sherlock, who wasn’t desperate, would never do to John.

He ‘forgot’ about the switch in the car. Because this was something even John would have trouble forgiving. Sherlock remembered how he’d had to beg after the H.O.U.N.D. case. How he’d had to apologize for weeks, in big ways and small, before John was able to keep from tensing every time Sherlock so much as gestured toward the kitchen. If John, the real John, had such difficulty with Sherlock scaring him under laboratory conditions, Not-John would never want to so much as hear Sherlock’s name spoken when he learned he wasn’t actually in danger while sitting inside a rigged-to-explode subway carriage.

And, if the now real Not-John stayed away from Sherlock long enough, maybe he’d become John again. It didn’t really matter if Sherlock ever spoke to him, or even saw him after this, as long as he went back to being John; the world was a better place with the real John in it, and that was enough. Besides, John had been much safer without him. John had gone two years without any active threats against his life. Sherlock’s return had caused near immolation and now a possibility of explosion in less than 48 hours.

Come to think of it, it was like a reverse of how he and John had become flatmates. John had rushed to save Sherlock from himself, and within the week had been captured by smugglers who’d nearly killed them both. John craved action, but John was happy with Mary, and without Sherlock, John could be happy with substantially fewer threats to life and limb. A safe John made Sherlock happy, even if considering it made him feel like a law of physics had been violated.

So, no Sherlock, no Not-John, but instead happy, safe real John, which would make Sherlock happy, and not-safe, and not-safe was healthier for Sherlock anyway, because he really did rot in stagnation, but John seemed to be settling nicely, and Sherlock gave up the right to take that away when he didn’t make himself clear enough before stepping off the ledge at Bart’s.

But, be he John or Not-John, the infuriating man always surprised Sherlock. He didn’t storm off at Sherlock’s deception. He didn’t rage, at least not at the length he was supposed to. He didn’t lecture about ‘not good’ and remind Sherlock that he wasn’t even human, because he wasn’t, he couldn’t be, a human would have broken under the weight Sherlock had shouldered in the past two years, and Sherlock was still as whole as he’d ever been. Or maybe he’d broken long before, and simply never realized it, but he liked the first one better. It meant John was right, and in the important things, John was usually right.

Except that John forgave him, even this, this unforgivable deception that was supposed to scatter the pieces that had been Sherlock-and-John for all of time, but didn’t. John wasn’t leaving. John was staying. John was John. Sherlock would still have him to hurt and betray and disappoint and endanger. Sherlock was given another chance, a hundred chances, an infinity of chances, to laugh and love and learn from this remarkable, ordinary man.

And under the burden of such unfathomable possibilities, his mind buzzing with the death-that-should-have-been, and his heart brimming with the-life-that-would-yet-come, he felt his heart-that-never-was

 _shatter_.

**Author's Note:**

> I doubt it was intentional on the author’s part, but cloisonné can mean two very different things; a particular style of inlaid metal work, or more likely, the work of Ando Cloisonné Studio, which was stunning, delicately-enameled porcelain. So, depending on which you’re referencing, the answer to the riddle can be very different. I see this false-dichotomy created by misconstrued terminology as still being very applicable to Sherlock and John. Sherlock is simultaneously the stronger and more fragile of the two, with his overwrought complexity making him seem well armored when at heart he’s still very much a child. Plain, practical John is the more obviously broken, and yet because of that, he is paradoxically unbreakable. He’s already been through hell, multiple times, and he’s still standing tall(ish) and shooting straight, when needed.
> 
> Title taken from the Sara Bareilles song Gravity. It rather begs for a John-centric treatment, particularly post-fall or during TEH. Maybe I’ll get around to it, eventually.


End file.
